


Chorusian Summers

by Churbooseanon



Series: RVB 60 Minute Challenge [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle ponders the way summer affects his army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chorusian Summers

**Author's Note:**

> For RVB 60 Minute Challenge for 3/20/2015: Around here, everyone has a story about summer.
> 
> A brief, introspective fic.

Summer is a hard time on the Federal Army of Chorus, even with all of their snowbound bases. 

Intellectually General Donald Doyle understands why that is. He looks around at the rank and file soldiers and understands on a level what they’re missing. It isn’t the way the armor makes even an average day swelteringly hot. Or is it the fact that it seems the New Republic favors staging major assaults in the summer months. It isn’t how the war started in the summer, and the seventeenth of June is seen as the herald of another year wasted, more lives lost, more friends that people have no choice but to forget. 

What makes it hard, he suspects, is the fact that they remember what summer used to be like. That long ago time when summers were a time of joy among the heat. When the cities had been filled with the joy-filled shrieks of children splashing around in sprinklers or pools or running through the streets. Summer used to be a time of plenty and fun, a time that reminded adults of the glory days of their youth, when the summer months marked a temporary freedom from school and some responsibilities. 

Summer used to mean peace. Summer used to mean fun. Summer used to be the point that people got to in their lives to mark how far they had come, not how far they had fallen. 

Around the bases all he hears in those months are stories of summers lost and longed for. 

What hurts is the melancholy way people speak of it. The wistful longing for the childhood innocence. The games and fun and wars that ended with piles of children laughing and calling to each other about how they were clearly the winners. 

If only they had known then what Doyle knows now. 

There are no true winners in a war, only the people who got out early. 

Summer is the hardest time of the year, and Doyle always finds himself praying they would end. 

It will never end.


End file.
